


You Are Starlight

by mvsicofthenight



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternative Universe - FBI, Badass Armin Arlert, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29947302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvsicofthenight/pseuds/mvsicofthenight
Summary: After years of constantly reliving a traumatic accident that entirely altered his world, Armin Arlert, graduate student and aspiring biologist, is at the end of his tether. When he and his best friend, Eren Jaeger, are pushed closer together than ever before on an investigation of a criminal organization for the FBI, together they must confront danger and the demons of their pasts in order to move into the future.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager
Comments: 22
Kudos: 49





	You Are Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unusual dream leaves Armin feeling tense. Eren has important news.

_Prologue: Flightless_

***

All around him, there was white. A rush of sound, reminiscent of waves crashing tumultuously on the seashore, echoed distantly from below his feet. His pupils strained to focus on something, _anything_ , to identify his location.

  
From somewhere above, a light shone directly in his face and he squinted, reaching a hand out to cover the blinding rays. He cracked open a precautionary eye and sighed in relief, flexing his illuminated fingers; they glowed red and translucent, like embers of a dying fire.

  
Armin seized the momentary opportunity of visual clarity to look around. Much to his dismay, there was...well, nothing. Or, somewhat more accurately, the complete absence of _something_. He turned his head sideways to observe his surroundings and was greeted with viscous resistance, as if he were moving through water. Slowly, he moved his outstretched arm down to rest a hand over his eyes, guarding them from the beam of light that felt as if it was boring holes into his bare skin with its hot intensity.

  
 _Where am I?_ Armin wondered to himself, eyes ruminating the empty landscape. His heart thumped loudly from beneath his ribs, like a trapped little canary fluttering around anxiously inside its cage. _Am I dead? Is this Heaven?_

  
While staring at the ground to ponder his situation, he noticed something peculiar about his shadow. There was his form, stretched out on the ground, with two enormous wing-like structures sprouting from behind his shoulders. He blinked hard, willing the mirage to disappear, but the wings remained. Reaching backwards, he felt the feathers brush his fingertips softly. The wings were as solid as the shirt on his back, yet felt motionless, disconnected, weightless.

  
The ground below his feet began to rumble. _An earthquake?_ questioned the voice inside his head. The canary rattled harder against his ribcage. His body quivered violently.

  
The far-off sound of the waves was split by a resounding _crack_ from directly between his bare feet. He tried to turn and run, but his feet were planted solidly in place on either side of the crevice. For a moment, the crack was a single vertical line between his legs, and he held his breath, waiting for his inevitable doom with a pounding heart and trembling knees. His hair, damp from perspiration, clung to his forehead like a second skin.

  
All around him, the ground began to crack in a series of thunderous _snaps_ , morphing into white tectonic plates floating precariously on top of a mantle of glowing light before his eyes. Then, he fell.

  
Now, instead of the barren white landscape from before, Armin was plummeting through space. His wings were broken, melted by the scorching sun like the wax plumage of Icarus. With his only escape from falling compromised, he grasped frantically for something to hold onto, but the rushing air only flowed tauntingly through his desperate fists. He cried out, hearing nothing but the howling wind and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  
Down Armin plunged into the darkness, feeling the onset of vertigo as millions of stars streaked by him like reels on a slot machine. His head spun, and his screams sounded distant and feeble. The ground must be nearing—he knew this was the end. He had fallen through the gates of Heaven and was plummeting straight down into Hell. One thousand feet...five hundred...one hundred, maybe less…

  
He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for impact.

  
 _“Armin!”_ said a familiar voice insistently in his ear.

  
He shot awake with a yell.

  
“Hey, hey, _hey!_ It’s okay, you’re fine, it was just another nightmare,” said the voice, low and soft in his ear. A pair of warm hands patted his head, rubbed at his back, stroked his arms in an attempt to calm him as he groped around for something to hold onto, chest heaving. Slowly but surely, he was brought gently back down to earth.

  
Armin’s eyelids fluttered open slightly. His knuckles, tightly gripping the bed sheets, were pallid and bloodless. His throat felt raw.

  
“Eren,” he managed, searching desperately for his best friend. Armin felt his vice-like grip on the sheets being loosened and, through his blurred vision, watched as a tan-skinned hand enveloped his wrist.

  
“I’m here,” Eren assured him, tightening his grip as if to prove his point. His palms felt warm and soft against Armin's frigid skin. “You’re okay, I swear. Do you want some water?”

  
Armin turned his head, blinking hard. He nodded, grimacing at the pounding in his head. Eren’s blurry figure reached to his left and grabbed a glass from the night stand, placing it in Armin’s empty grasp.

  
“Thank you,” Armin said quietly, proceeding to down the contents of the glass like a thirsty dog. Once it was empty, he placed it back in Eren’s hand and sighed, slumping against his roommate’s shoulder. He felt Eren shift to place the glass back on his side table. An arm snaked firmly around his shoulders.

  
“I’m sorry this happens to you,” Eren sighed. His statement hung hollowly in the air for a moment, dissolving into the subsequent silence. Armin felt the grip around his back tighten.

  
He shook his head. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his eyes squeezing shut. “It’s not your fault. Unavoidable, really. The medicine doesn’t even help anymore.”

  
Eren stood up, removing his arm, and Armin cursed himself for the strange ache that appeared deep inside his chest at the absence of the contact. He swallowed hard to shove it down and reopened his eyes, turning to see what was wrong. His temples pounded with the sudden movement.

  
“I just got home from the office,” Eren said, leaning lightly against the night stand. “You slept in pretty late today...Even when I left, you were still fast asleep. I should have known something was up. I heard you scream right as I walked in.”

  
Armin hummed in acknowledgement, squinting in an attempt to read his expression. In his blurred vision, he saw Eren’s figure straighten.

  
“Oh! Sorry, I forgot,” Eren began to rummage in the drawers of his night stand. He pulled out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and slid them clumsily over Armin’s nose. “There, that should be better.”

  
Though his headache subsided slightly, the tightness in his chest returned in full force. Eren backed up again and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  
With his vision restored, Armin finally was able to get a proper look at his best friend. Eren was wearing his black work jacket over a checkered blue collared shirt—Armin’s favorite, coincidentally—and a pair of navy slacks. His long, generally unruly mahogany hair was pulled into a neat knot at the base of his neck. Armin noticed that his tan complexion had an unusual pallor, but he shrugged it off as an effect of the poor lighting in his bedroom.

  
“You look nice,” Armin observed. Eren snickered.

  
“Thanks,” he replied, a soft smile gracing his lips. There was a cheeky glint in his green eyes. “I’d say the same, but you kind of look like shit.”

  
Armin felt the corners of his mouth turn up involuntarily. “As one does when they wake up from a trauma-induced night terror,” he said dryly. He rubbed at his arms, which had erupted in goosebumps.

  
“Seriously, you need to get that checked out again. I don’t feel like it’s supposed to be happening still,” Eren sighed. He perked up suddenly. “Are you cold?”

  
“No, I’m fine, I probably just need to get up and walk arou—oh,” Armin stopped himself. Eren had already begun taking off his jacket, the bright yellow ‘ _FBI_ ’ it was emblazoned with on the back flashing as he wriggled his arms out of it. He held it out to him, and Armin took it sheepishly.

  
“Thanks,” he said, slipping his arm through a sleeve and tugging it on. The nylon material was surprisingly warm, though he was already well-acquainted with that fact. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to share clothing; they wore the same shirt size, even though Eren was easily an entire size larger and much broader than he was. Armin, ever insecure about his slighter form, simply preferred baggier clothing.

  
Eren smoothed down his collared shirt to neaten it. “Don’t mention it.” Though his tone was cheerful, there was a peculiar expression on his face, somewhat melancholy and distant, but otherwise unreadable. Armin examined it for a moment, but could think of no explanation for it. Had he said something to upset Eren? Anxiety crept into his chest, settling its heavy, familiar weight across his sternum. He suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  
Eren shook his head abruptly and smiled, the expression vanishing in an instant. Armin began to wonder if he had imagined it. “Listen, you wanna go out and get lunch or something?”

  
Armin rubbed at his eyes from behind his glasses. “Sure, just let me shower really quick and we can go.”

  
“Alright,” Eren said. He lingered for a moment like there was something else he wanted to say, but presumably changed his mind, as he started to walk out. “I’ll just wait in the kitchen.”

  
He smiled again, and Armin returned it feebly before Eren closed the door. He listened to Eren’s receding footsteps as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself to his feet. After taking off Eren’s jacket and setting it neatly on the bed, he padded over to the bathroom and switched on the light.

  
Armin was taken aback by how haggard his reflection looked. The combination of his pale skin and dark purple eyebags gave him the appearance of a reanimated corpse, his short blond hair standing up around his head like a spiky halo. Paired with this makeshift nimbus and his massively oversized white t-shirt—most likely Eren’s, alhough he wasn't so sure—he looked like a comical depiction of a saint from a Renaissance painting.

  
 _Awfully ironic_ , chided the voice in his head mockingly. _You sure aren't a saint of any kind._ Armin watched as his reflection’s face soured. He took off his glasses to rid himself of the ghastly apparition and set them on the countertop. Leaning over the edge of the bathtub, he turned on the shower. The acrylic was cold underneath his fingers.

  
After peeling off his socks, shirt and shorts, Armin drew back the curtain and stepped into the shower. The water was lukewarm and sent an unpleasant chill down his spine, but his weariness had already drawn his patience far too thin to wait for it to warm up. He hung his head in front of the shower head and watched absentmindedly as the water soaked his hair through until it hung in dripping tendrils around his face.

  
Images from the nightmare floated through his head—the barren white landscape, the wings, the cracks in the ground, and his subsequent fall through the blackness. Often he had nightmares; they generally consisted of a patchwork replay of fading memories of the accident, loved ones dying while he watched helplessly, or even of his teeth falling out one by one, making a bloody, filthy mess in his hands while he stared vacantly into the bathroom mirror. Visions of Eren filled his regular dreams— _Eren’s smile, Eren’s laughter, the way Eren talks to him so calmly and gently_ —but these fleeting moments of serenity in the realm of his subconscious depicted violence more often than not. Over the years, he had come to terms with the fact that the nightmares were an immutable part of his reality; no matter how miserable they made him, they weren't going away any time soon.

  
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Armin brushed back his hair, now soaked to the touch from standing underneath the spray, and reached for a bottle of shampoo. His faulty vision rendered his reach clumsy and misdirected, and the bottle toppled out of the shower rack. He watched it fall in almost slow-motion before it clattered against the bottom of the bathtub. Armin paused, his hand still outstretched.

  
A flash of the nightmare that he had just narrowly escaped from appeared in his mind’s eye. He took a deep, shaky breath and shut the water off.

***

* * *

_Chapter 1: On the Horizon_

Armin closed his bedroom door behind him and started towards the kitchen. Now equipped with a fresh set of contact lenses, the dizziness that often accompanied his lack of vision had subsided, and he felt slightly more clean even though his poor attempt at showering had been cut short. After retiring from the shower, he had thrown on a long-sleeve forest green henley, a light jacket, and a pair of blue jeans that were worn in the knees from repeated trips on the concrete while walking to his university classes. Although they weren’t quite his style, he considered himself lucky that ripped jeans were in fashion—being in graduate school with a crippling pile of student debt didn’t necessarily allow for too much extra clothing.

  
When he walked into the kitchen, Eren was seated at the little round breakfast table, his phone in one hand and a half-empty glass bottle of Coca-Cola in the other. As he took a swig, his eyes met Armin’s over the bottle. He set it down on the table with a _clink_.

  
“Hey,” Eren said with a grin. “Glad to see you up.” He patted the table with his free hand, indicating for Armin to sit. Their fluffy ginger cat, Apollo, was sleeping soundly on the tabletop, and Eren scratched him behind the ear.

  
Armin reached over to pet the cat and took the seat directly across from his roommate. “What a morning I’ve had already,” he said gloomily. His eyebrows drew together. “No surprise there.”

  
Eren shook his head and picked up the bottle again, offering it across the table to him. “Want some?”

  
Armin accepted the bottle from Eren’s outstretched hand and took a hefty swig; the soda’s carbonation made him shake his head violently. Eren laughed at his reaction and accepted the Coke back, tipping it vertically to finish it off. Armin watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  
Eren set the empty glass bottle on the table and leaned back in his chair, stretching. “Are you ready to head out?” He fixed the collar on his button-up. “We’re gonna meet Jean, Mikasa, and Annie at Maria’s. I figured you could use some coffee.”

  
Armin nodded, a corner of his mouth turning up. “I sure could. And a bagel. Throw in a cocktail of muscle relaxants.”

  
Eren laughed and stood up, and Armin followed suit, reaching across the table to give Apollo one last scratch behind the ears. Eren grabbed the keys to their apartment and they walked out. While his roommate locked the apartment, Armin looked around, squinting in the sunshine.

  
It was a breezy day, but the sun gave the air a certain warmth that soothed his exhausted body. The trees rustled in the wind, accompanied by the sound of cars driving on the street below. A little girl walked by their complex, a large, fluffy black dog dragging her across the sidewalk in its excitement. Once Eren was finished locking up, they set off down the stairs.

  
Maria’s was their go-to café, conveniently located a block down from their apartment. It was a dainty, vintage-style little place, and their coffee and pastries were always nothing short of decadent and divine. Since Eren wasn’t much of a coffee fan, Armin would often go there to meet Mikasa—Eren’s adoptive sister—and her roommate, Annie.

  
Mikasa, much like Eren, was very headstrong, but had always been extremely friendly to Armin ever since he and Eren had become roommates. Eren frequently got into arguments with her about her almost maternal protectiveness over him, which usually ended in a calm and collected (yet slightly smug) Mikasa while Eren grumbled about women being a pain in the ass. It served as Armin’s source of amusement while he wasn’t attending his college classes.

  
He didn’t know much about Annie—she was taciturn and quite guarded, and Armin was under the impression that she was a bit of a loner as well. What he was certain of, however, was that she could knock him out cold with little effort if she really wanted to. He supposed that Mikasa enjoyed the rivalry.

  
On one of the occasions that he went to Maria’s with Eren and the two girls, Annie had mentioned her interest in “vulture culture,” as she’d called it. She’d shown him a picture of her preserved insect collection, and just to be polite, he had complimented it. Though it was slightly on the more eccentric side, it was a respectful hobby; he supposed that something ought to be done with what remains after death. Eren, on the other hand, had found it creepy. Thus began Eren's irrational fear of Annie Leonhart, though he would never verbally admit it.

  
“It’s nice out today,” Eren’s voice chided from his right, promptly derailing his train of thought. “A little windy, but otherwise nice.”

  
“Yeah, it is,” said Armin, tugging the sleeves of his jacket down to cover his hands. “The sun makes it a little more bearable. By the way, did you feed the cat?”

  
“I did. Notice how he wasn’t complaining?”

  
Armin hummed. The wind picked up a bit as they walked down the street, so he opted instead to place his hands inside his pockets to shield them further. His breath steamed in the frigid November air like a dragon puffing out smoke.

  
Luckily, the café wasn’t far from their apartment complex—only about a two-minute walk—and they soon arrived at the front entrance, where Armin swung the door open and stepped aside for Eren to enter first. He received a warm grin in return.

  
The air inside Maria’s felt like a furnace compared to the chill outside, and it smelled of freshly brewed coffee and pastries straight out of the oven. Sunlight reflecting through the windows made the specks of dust glitter as they drifted through the air, and cast a warm glow on the seating areas. It made Armin want to forget all about the nightmare he’d woken up from, which, unfortunately, would be quite an impossible feat.

  
He spotted their friends at their usual circular booth in the back right corner; it always had the softest cushions, and was in perfect proximity to the bakery. Strangely, they were the only customers seated in the café. Armin peeked through the window on the kitchen door as they walked by and saw a blond curly-haired man making what appeared to be croissants.

  
“Hey, guys!” Jean called, waving as they neared the table. He scooted inwards and patted the portion of the bench next to him. “Glad you finally could make it.”

  
Jean Kirstein was a tall, lean man with sandy-brown hair just shy of the base of his neck. He was a year older than the rest of them; he and Eren met in their criminal justice class in college, and the three of them had become fast friends soon afterwards.

  
Armin caught Mikasa’s eye as he sat down, and she smiled softly at him. Annie, who had been staring thoughtfully into her cappuccino, raised a hand in greeting.

  
“Are you alright, Armin?” said Jean. “You look like shit, dude. No offense.”

  
Armin laughed, but he felt Eren bristle next to him.

  
“Don’t be an ass, Jean,” Eren said defensively, his tone sharp and curt. “He had a rough night.”

  
Armin blinked. He turned to his best friend in amusement. “You said the same exact thing to me this morning, Eren.”

  
Eren stared at him blankly. “I did? Oh,” he said, ducking his head. “Right. Sorry.” His face had taken on what appeared to be a slight red tint, but Armin decided it was just a trick of the warm-colored lighting inside the café.

  
Eren had an unhealthy habit of bickering with Jean at every opportunity possible. Whenever Jean would make some snarky quip, more specifically about Armin himself, Eren would seethe and tremble like an angry chihuahua, his fists clenched and teeth bared. Armin knew Jean was joking, but somehow the message was always mistranslated on its way through Eren’s brain.

  
Jean and Eren had a very successful partnership at work, and were a well-admired special agent duo throughout the Criminal Investigation department of the city’s FBI branch. They were always assigned on missions together and got the job done effectively every time. For the most part, they got along well, as both were equal amounts of cocky and self-assured, with a sufficient amount of intelligence between the two of them to figure people out with ease.

  
Once, however, Jean made a joke about wanting to drive his car over a bridge—in Armin’s opinion, a completely normal joke to make, although potentially in bad taste considering the circumstances—and Eren immediately socked him in the nose so hard that he had to have a hospital visit. It still bled at least once a week. Armin knew that Eren was just being a protective friend; however, though he would never dare to say it aloud, he believed that Eren’s major flaw was caring far too much about defending him.

  
“Are you guys gonna get anything?” Jean asked, gesturing to the cashier counter across the room with his thumb. “I was waiting for you.”

  
“Oh!” Armin exclaimed, “yeah, I’ll go now. What can I get you guys? It’s on me.” He smiled, looking between the both of them. Eren shook his head in protest and attempted to pull out his wallet, but with a pleading look, Armin managed to silently convince him to put it away. _For all you do for me_ , he hoped it said, _let me do something for you, just this once._

  
He took their respective orders and headed towards the counter. Sasha Braus, the main barista and co-owner of Maria’s, was scribbling fervently in a notebook as he approached. Her head perked up at the sound of his footsteps.

  
“Hiya, Armin!” she greeted cheerfully, clicking her pen and stowing it deftly in the pocket of her crimson apron. A sizable white letter _M_ was embroidered on the front in an elaborate cursive font. “What can I get for you today?”

  
“Same as always for me,” he said with a smile. “And let me also get a cinnamon roll and a blueberry muffin with that.” She typed his order into the register as he spoke.

  
He fished out his wallet and handed her his credit card while Niccolo, the other co-owner and head baker of the café, came from the kitchen with a pan full of freshly baked chocolate croissants. His blond, curly hair bounced animatedly as he walked behind the counter with the tray held high on his oven mitt-clad hand. Armin waved politely at him, receiving a warm grin in return. As Niccolo slipped past Sasha, he put a hand gently on her waist. They made eye contact and smiled, while Armin watched their sweet exchange, feeling awkward and strangely envious.

  
Sasha looked back at him, her high ponytail swishing as she did so. She handed his card back. “You can go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring your order right on over!”

  
“Thanks, Sasha,” Armin said with a nod.

  
As he began to walk back over to his friends, he noticed that the atmosphere had changed. Jean and Eren, who had been bickering just a few minutes prior, were leaning into the center of the table and talking in low voices. Mikasa was frowning as they spoke, and even Annie was listening attentively. Armin halted in his tracks—from the combination of their hushed tones and guarded body language, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Determined to find out what it was, he walked casually over towards the restroom in the back corner of the café, where he knew he could hide to subtly eavesdrop. He opened the bathroom door with a creak and stood in the entrance of it as he attempted to listen to what they were saying, but their quiet tones were nearly inaudible from his distance.

  
“Don’t know…explain...mission,” came Eren’s voice, recognizably a semi-loud whisper. His cautious tone had an anxious quality to it, as if he were dreading whatever topic they were discussing.

  
Mikasa responded, but her words were too softly uttered for Armin to decipher.

  
 _A mission? What could possibly be so worrying about that?_ Eren was often called to investigate or resolve certain situations for work, but it was never anything particularly remarkable or concerning.

  
As the conversation continued, Armin’s anxiety grew. They were talking so quietly that he was only infrequently able to hear things; besides the word “mission,” he had most notably heard the words “killing,” “organization,” and “Mexico,” repeated a few times. Although his friends hadn’t seemed to notice his absence yet, he knew that he couldn’t hide forever in the hallway.

  
“He’ll understand,” came Jean’s voice, clear as a bell from behind the wall of the booth. Armin heard a slap, and Mikasa shushed Jean urgently.

  
 _Who would understand?_ Armin wondered, frowning deeply. Of course, he could reasonably infer from their hushed tones and secretive mannerisms that they were talking about some matter pertaining to him, but he struggled to connect the dots between himself and an involvement in Eren’s career. He leaned further out of the door to catch what was to be said next, holding his breath in anticipation. The door creaked slightly with his added weight.

  
Armin’s heart thumped in his chest as he waited. For a moment, they were completely silent. Then—

  
“It’s fine, Mikasa,” he heard Eren say, his voice lilted in amusement. “He’s listening from the hallway near the bathroom.”

  
Armin froze.

  
“What?” Annie piped up. It was the first time Armin had heard her speak all day. The wooden booth creaked, likely as a result of her shifting to look down the hallway in question. “I don’t see him. How did you know?”

  
“I saw him walk towards the bathroom. The door’s hinges made a sound when it opened, but I never heard it shut. It just creaked again.”

  
Armin cursed himself in his foolish mediocrity. Eren’s training really had paid off—he found it nearly impossible to bypass his scrutiny anymore.

  
“You can come out now, Armin,” Eren said. Armin could almost hear the grin in his voice. 

  
With an audible sigh he exited the bathroom, and the door clicked behind him as he moved forward into the open room. Eren whooped triumphantly with the sound of the shutting door.

  
Jean turned to him. “Impressive work, partner!” He patted Eren on the back roughly.

  
“Child’s play,” Armin muttered with a scowl. Eren’s irritatingly impish grin widened in glee at the sight of it. “I let you win, you know. Just so you would have the satisfaction.”

  
 _“Mmm-hmmm,”_ Eren hummed, cocking a brow. His green eyes gleamed with mischief. “Sure you did. Better luck next time, rookie.”

  
Armin slumped next to his roommate, dejected and discontented at his loss. He directed an obscene gesture under the table towards Eren, who let out an obnoxious bark of laughter. Truthfully, Armin wasn’t considering the sound of the door in the moment; their hushed conversation was a more pressing matter. Playing detective with a highly trained special agent probably wasn’t the smartest of choices.

  
“Eren has something he wants to talk to you about,” Jean snickered. Eren shoved his shoulder in protest.

  
“I think he knows, Jean,” Mikasa grumbled.

  
“What is it?” Armin said, feeling a slight nervousness creep into his voice. His friends looked at one another apprehensively.

  
“Armin,” Eren said, reaching to touch his arm. “Please don’t be mad.”

  
“Oh, no,” Armin groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “What did you do, Eren?”

  
Eren glanced at Mikasa, who gave him a supportive thumbs-up. He chuckled nervously and reached to rummage in his pocket. Finding the object he was searching for, Eren smacked what appeared to be a passport onto the table. Armin reached tentatively for it.

  
“What’s this?” he asked anxiously, rifling through the pages. Eren did not respond; he simply pursed his lips, his dark eyebrows raising. When Armin came across the ID page, he lifted it up to examine it.

  
His own face peered back up at him from the left side of the page, nearly identical to his usual portrait; however, this passport was unlike anything he owned. In the top two identification entries, it read:

  
_Surname:_   
_JACKSON_   
_Given name:_   
_AARON_

  
Armin stared at it blankly.

  
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, Eren, but that’s not my name,” he said.

  
“I’m aware,” Eren replied simply. He pulled another passport out of his pocket and flipped to the same page, turning it for Armin to see. On the left side was a portrait of Eren—the same one from his real passport, from when his hair was shorter. Only on this passport, the name read: _EVAN JACKSON._

  
Armin frowned, looking up at his best friend in confusion. “I don't get it. Is this some sort of...gag gift? Though I don’t understand why you had to change the na—“

  
He silenced himself as Eren pulled two shiny objects from his pocket. Armin was beginning to fear what other surprises the man was hiding in there. The objects, circular and metallic, let out a soft _clink_ as Eren set them on the table. It was a pair of silver wedding rings.

  
“Congratulations Mr. Aaron Jackson—more like _sorry_ , actually—you’re now married to me,” said Eren with a smile. “...Fake-married, that is. But airport security doesn’t know that, nor do they need to know.”

  
Armin blinked owlishly at him, his mouth agape. A simple declaration of “Huh?” was all he could manage.

  
Eren took the passport gently from his hands and set it down on the table. “I got a new mission,” he glanced at Jean. “We both did. It’s a really serious investigation, too—the first one out of the country for both of us. I’ll tell you more later, but...our directors said we had to take someone with us for cover. Mikasa is going with Jean, but she’s known about it for a while. I was just hesitant to tell you because I was worried you would freak out.”

  
Armin blinked. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute. “I’m not freaking out,” he said, clenching his fists in his lap to prevent his hands from trembling. He took a deep breath, unsure if he would be able to convince Eren, let alone himself, that he could handle it. _You said you would do anything for him. This is your opportunity._ “I’m fine. I’m alright.”

  
“Are you sure?” Eren’s green eyes met his, hesitant and uneasy. The worry that was evident in his voice from their earlier conversation again clouded his expression. “You’re allowed to say no. I can get someone else to help if you don’t want to. Just say the word and you’re off the hook, Armin. I mean that. I’m not going to push your boundaries for the sake of my job.”

  
Although Eren hadn’t revealed the details of the operation yet, Armin already could easily assume that the situation he was now entangled in wouldn’t be a walk in the park for any of them. He had to pretend to be married to his best friend. His _best friend_. He was going somewhere far away from his home, his graduate classes, his apartment, his friends, his cat, his entire _life_ , involving himself in a potentially dangerous, top-secret mission for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  
Armin swallowed hard. With as much confidence as he could muster, he said:

“How bad could it be?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading Chapter 1! I really hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Stay tuned for more, I'm planning on releasing a chapter every Thursday :)
> 
> See you next week!


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